…While riding my bike.

“I thought of that while riding my bicycle” – Albert Einstein in reference to the Theory of Relativity.

Kimmi Runner

“I thought of that while riding my bicycle” – Albert Einstein in reference to the Theory of Relativity.

I don’t have anything near Relativity on the brain. In fact quite the opposite. It’s more to the tune of “Shit! I’m so effed today!” as some bastard blasting Jewel in a Subaru cuts me off. Was that Jewel or Fiona Apple? Why am I pondering this right now? Screw you and your shitty music. I’ve just had to grab my somewhat functioning brakes and hope for the best in the drizzle that the hot number spouting off the weather report this morning had the nerve to dub the “storm of the year”. She’s hot and all, but certainly one of the duller tools in the shed.

The truth is it’s familiar. Not someone playing Jewel in the year 2017, of course, as that would never be appropriate. The daily commute is the familiar. The subtle rolling up of my right pantleg, pulling my multi-colored striped sock up and over the fluff of leg hair; my proverbial middle finger to all the local lycra-wearing, leg-shaving roadies sipping their brand name nonfat lattes on their nonfat brand name bicycles. Perhaps I’ll sit in on part of their train when they turn onto Second Street, just so I can speed past them and laugh.

Not today. No games today, I’m late. Martin is already pissed that I’m late on the new sketches, and Maggie is surely fuming still after yesterday’s sub-par outburst. Ugh. Faster faster, get there already! As I speed up the familiar wind hits me. This is the best part of the ride in as I’m not flanked by concrete walls anymore. The smell of rain is refreshing these days, the wind in my face as I pick up a bit more speed is welcome, and the combination of the two is intoxicating. Certainly much more preferable than the sleet we got last month, after which I smugly switched my tires back to their usual skinnies, a dumbass move that planted me with a face full of gritty pavement and a bloody lip. Chicks dig scars, right? Well Maggie doesn’t, but that’s neither here nor there. She probably wouldn’t mind another scar or two if it meant I had an actual car to take her to dinner in.

These are the thoughts as the wet wind hits my face. And this particular stretch of asphalt never fails to reach inside my overloaded brain and turn down the volume a bit. This is why 23 minutes of distracted drivers, car horns, the occasional flurry of odd weather I get to play Mortal Combat with is worth it. By the time I unroll the pants and take my helmet off I’m able to calmly walk to my cube, sit down, and get to finishing the sketches. But I swear if Fiona Apple plays in my earbuds today, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than 23 minutes to calm me down.